DragonRider
by 98Shaddowolff98
Summary: A futuristic AU where Dragons and Humans compete in races. After an accident forcing John to leave his successful racing career until he recovers, he comes back labeled a has been. And just who is this up and coming mystery Rider Sherlock Holmes?
1. 14th June 3035: London New England

A/N: This has been bouncing around my head for a while, I just never seem to get 'normal' ideas *sigh*. I will warn you now that it may or may not ever be finished, as I like writing long stories, but I will try my best!

_Disclaimer: _I don't own Sherlock *huff*. I don't specifically own the idea of a Dragon Rider Universe but I do own this version of it. Any OC's are mine!**_  
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**_The Times_  
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**14 June 3035, London, New England.**

**IN BREAKING NEWS**

Dragon Rider extraordinaire John H. Watson has been rushed to hospital in a critical condition after his Class 2 dragon Atraxia lost her footing and fell on him during the Grande Prix, the most prestigious race for Dragon Riders this side of the hemisphere. The dragon has been declared to have died almost immediately after snapping her neck. Officials are baffled at how a dragon in perfect form and well familiar with the course can lose it's footing, but many argue to take into consideration that the dragon's weakness was Grip in the first place and that Hangman's bend is one of the sharper corners of the circuit. This controversial accident has turned the racing world upside down as every fan, official and judge takes their side. While some argue...**See Page 3**

**In Other News**

Evidence has come to light after several decades of stagnation on the death of Dragon Rider Carl Powers, in which it is rumored foul play may have been involved. While the authorities have neither affirmed or denied these claims, sources have uncovered information on an underground racing organization responsible for fixing races, tampering with raceways and even going so far as removing Riders from events through less than legal methods. While racing officials deny these allegations...**See Page 5**

Relations with America continue to increase as the two governments both signed the Peace Alliance after almost two hundred years of war looming over the countries. Many are pleased by this Alliance although there are some who would rather...**See Page 7**

Italy has recently come into wealth after discovering a large supply of precious metals that had been hidden 6 kilometers under the Earth. The country has already started trading at reasonable prices, providing competition for...**See Page 9**

Dragon relations continue to improve. After a rocky start the giant reptiles agreed to continue to allow competition and human control in the racing scene, but have required all domestic dragons to be released and returned to the ...**See Page 11**


	2. 5th January 3038, London New England

**A/N: Thanks to the people who reviewed!**

****Edited** I made a stupid mistake in here *facepalm* Thanks to mhaim for pointing it out! *Goes and lives under a rock*  
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Dragon Rider John Watson was grooming his dragon. Even though he had been told numerous times that people didn't take care of their dragons anymore, apparently that was what stable-hands were used for these days, he preferred to stick to what he had been taught in the early days of the International DragonRiders League.

_Although it isn't called that anymore. _He corrected himself._ IDL is now the World Racing Organization. Sounds more formidable._

His dragon, Dermaitius, sighed. He wasn't too happy with John as his rider and John wasn't happy with him as his dragon either. And rightly so, every single rider chose their dragons. How the WRO had had the gall to choose his dragon for him he didn't know. Then again he didn't know how half of anything worked anymore.

"When was the last time you actually rode, John?" The dragon turned his head to face John. While his tone of voice was deceptively pleasant, there was still a trace of annoyance lingering. John paused before answering.

"I haven't ridden a dragon since the accident." No need to clarify there. Everyone knew about what the media had dubbed 'The Accident'. Hundreds had given their condolences for the loss of one of the greatest Dragon Riders in the world, but when he had come back he was met with skepticism. 'How could a 30 something year has been compete with the up and coming racers of today?' they said. They actually called him a has been to his face.

The brush he had been holding in his left hand dropped to the floor. He picked it up in his right and continued his work, clenching his left hand to try and stop the tremors.

All in his head they said.

Another sigh from his dragon. "Great. So you haven't even ridden for 5 years-" "3 years." John corrected. This earned him an eye-roll. "3 years, let alone actually race and you just thought you could come back and be the best again?" John bit down the cutting remark of _'How could I be the best with a Class 4 dragon?'_ and managed to answer with some semblance of courtesy. "No, I just wanted to race again in the same league I always raced in. Not some wimpy handicapped or C grade competition." John went to fetch the scale remover from the tack wall.

Still the dragon pushed on. As soon as John was back he continued. "Yes, but this is A grade John. Perhaps you should take it easy, at least until you get back on your feet." The dragon wasn't meaning to be rude, in fact the dragon was speaking quite gently, but he didn't _need_ to take it easy. That was the problem with everything. Racing had been his life and his dragon had been his best and closest friend. Harry had been his only form of family, always showing up to every race and cheering him on. And he had lost all of it.

He lost racing at the same time he lost his dragon. He had raced on a few dragons before but Atraxia had been remarkable. It had cost him is entire savings to buy her, being a class 2 dragon and all. He got that money back quicker than he had expected, winning races left, right and center. And she had been a wonderful friend. Her purple head-crest of scales would rise in joy whenever she spotted him and he would always sneak treats into the stable for her, much to the stable-hands chagrin. He had given her the nickname Blue to match her scales and she had laughed and called him pink to match his skin. Most people didn't bond with their dragons, but John had. And he had killed her. He had pushed her to turn a dangerous corner at full speed and she had died.

And he lost Harry as soon as she discovered he would be out of the racing scene. It wasn't that she stopped caring because she had never cared in the beginning. Harry had been betting enormous amounts of money on him and winning huge. She had bet almost half of her money on John in the Grande Prix and there were no refunds. Not that she was anywhere near broke, but she wasn't exactly filthy rich anymore. Seeing no reason to keep in contact she moved away from London to pursue other means.

"I think you've removed all the dead scales John. That's actually starting to hurt." He had been so wrapped up in his own musings he had failed to notice he had been dragging the rough pick against living scales. "I'm sorry. I'm just not myself." Dermaitius chuckled. "Who are you then?" John didn't find it very amusing. "Look, the competition league starts next month. We have to be ready, so why don't we spend today practicing out on the course?" His dragon nodded. "If you think you're ready. Don't push yourself to prove a point John."

John opened the stall door and led his dragon out to the Mount Up area. After 3 years he could still saddle a dragon perfectly. Just as he was amount to mount up, another Rider came through the corridor.

"Well, if it isn't our resident has been John Watson. How's the shoulder today?" Anderson was unpleasant as always, his face always seemed to be in a sneer. His dragon, Sally, wasn't much better. "Did you get stuck with him Dermaitius? I feel sorry for you. Don't expect to win anything." John waited until the couple had passed through the entire corridor before he attempted to mount up. It wasn't his shoulder that was the problem, it was his blasted leg. Even though nothing actually happened to it, the pain shooting through it was enough to making riding difficult.

As soon as John was settled they were out of the stables and walking towards the track. Everything had been placed in a very close proximity, with the stables being just behind the test track. He entered through the gate and started towards the starting line when he spotted someone else using the track.

Whoever they were they were fast, very fast. John moved off of the track to the sidelines, waiting patiently for the stranger to finish their run. A streak of black appeared from around the last corner and shot towards the finish line. As the black dragon slowed he could make out who the Rider was.

Sherlock Holmes. The mystery up and coming Rider. He had done well in all his races the previous year, although came short of qualifying for the Le Perioux, which in itself is the qualifier for the Grande Prix. From what he had seen of the man he was a remarkable racer, with some of the best times in the country. He had even beaten John's track record for The Dome, their home track, which was by no means a small feat. His dragon Onyx was said to be Class 3 with strengths in Intelligence, Speed and Aerodynamics and a weakness in Control. He was sure to make it to the Grande Prix this year.

Well, John enjoyed some competition.

As soon as Mr. Holmes and his dragon were off the track and in the stables John went back to the starting line. The starting lights began their count.

_Red...red...red...Green!_

And they were off. He decided to not go for a speed run and just see how the dragon handled.

Dermaitius was good, but not winning material. He turned well on all the corners, accelerated fine on the straights and could hold top speed for a reasonable time. He was an average dragon.

John wasn't as out of shape as people seemed to believe. His time was 1min 24.94 seconds without trying. His best time ever on the test track had been 59.34sec_. _There was still a long way to go, but they could get there eventually.

He ran the track again, pushing harder this time. Waiting longer before braking to turn, pushing to go faster on the straights and holding top speed for the whole of the course.

As he crossed the finish line he felt better than he had in years.

_1min 17.26sec. Not bad for a has been._

His dragon certainly seemed happier. "Perhaps we do have a shot John. That was reasonable run and it was only our second." At least someone thought they had a chance. "Yeah, just a bit more practice and we'll be great.". They rode back to the line to begin again

In the sidelines, Sherlock Holmes was watching. He was impressed, in a superior sort of way, of John Watson's run. For all the media's talk of the man being history he was still very formidable. And his left hand is as steady as the next man's in the saddle. The man and dragon on the track passed by where he was standing, the following rush of air disturbing the dust around him.

He brought his fingers together and rested them under his chin.

_John Watson is a walking puzzle.  
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	3. 13th January 3038, London New England

**A/N: Yes, I still exist. It's been a while, but I finally have a new chapter out. But it's not as long as I would have liked. Enjoy anyway!****  
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It wasn't a very busy day at the stables.

Most people didn't ride on the weekends, choosing instead to hit the town for some entertainment. The jobs they would normally carried out were taken up by stable-hands and the few Riders that seemed to live there.

John didn't live at the stables but he might as well have.

He had just finished sweeping the hall and was congratulating himself on a job well done when a stable boy approached him. The man was slightly shorter than him, dressed in a casual shirt and jeans, short black hair and dark eyes.

"You're John Watson, aren't you."

If he had a credit for every time someone said that...

"Yes."

"Wow, you were a legend around here."

John's smile faltered slightly at the obvious use of past tense but collected himself quickly enough. Must everybody rub it in his face constantly?

"Must be different. Coming back after a few years."

"Yes, well. Not everything has changed. Tack is still in the same place."

John glanced around the stables. It hadn't really changed that much and if he looked hard enough, he could see the old building he had loved so much.

"You must miss your old dragon. Can imagine it would be hard to adjust to a new one."

The stranger continued talking as if he hadn't heard John, even though he was looking right at him. Something clenched inside of him at the mention of his friend.

_'It wasn't your fault'_ they had said.

"Well, I should probably be getting back to work. Just wanted to say hi. You know how old lady Hudson gets when she sees her employee's slacking off."

At the mention of the old stable manager John's mood lightened considerably. A familiar face would be very welcome.

"Is Mrs. Hudson still working here? I thought she retired last year."

"Well, she did retire but they offered her the job back when things started to get out of control under the new manager."

That sounded like Mrs. Hudson. She knows 221 Baker Stables better than the workers who built the place.

"Catch you later John."

"Yeah...um, sorry I don't think I caught your name."

The stranger shrugged and smiled, not altogether pleasantly, at him before he walked away.

"Call me Jim."

* * *

><p>After his...strange...encounter with Jim he decided to pay a visit to Mrs Hudson for old times sake. She had always considered him to be like a son, since she didn't have any children of her own. It would be nice to have a chat with her.<p>

But after half an hour of searching for her office, he came across a section of the stables he hadn't been in before.

He was well and truly lost by now.

Well, he might as well ask for directions now. But...there didn't seem to be anybody around. The stalls were empty, the windows half-drawn and the hall didn't look like anyone had passed through for a while.

John slowly walked down the dark aisle, knocking gently on the stall doors to see if perhaps a dragon was in one of them. Nearing the end of the wing he was pretty sure that there was not one dragon or man anywhere.

_It's strange for a whole section to be deserted like this, normally people are complaining about overcrowding._

He was rather caught up in his head while thinking this, so he didn't notice that he had received an answer until it had been repeated a few times.

"I said who's there?"

John turned around and looked over the stall door. He couldn't see anything except a faint outlined shape in the darkness, but it sounded more like a dragon then a person.

"Uhhh...I was just wondering if you knew the way to Mrs Hudson's office? I'm kinda lost."

He smiled sheepishly. There was a small pause before the dragon replied.

"Sorry. I wouldn't know. But you might want to try the East Wing. It's just back down the way you came and then two rights."

"Thanks."

John was about to leave, but there was something niggling in the back of his mind. He turned back around and re-addressed the stranger.

"Why is there no one else around? I mean, this whole section is empty. It doesn't make sense."

The dragon seemed to be contemplating whether to ignore John or answer him. But it relented.

"Listen. This section is empty for a reason. What it is? I don't know. But the last person who came searching through here last was reported dead a few weeks back. I was only brought here because I don't mix with other dragons very well. You'd probably do best if you didn't ask about it again."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, I'm warning you. Besides, the WRO won't be too happy if they find out you talked to me."

John snorted.

"Oh, yeah? Why not?"

The dragon stood and walked over to to door and stuck his head and neck out.

John's eye's widened in shock.


	4. 13&14th January 3038, London New England

The dragon was white.

It's scales even in the dim light of the corridor positively gleamed. It had beautiful navy blue streaks running along it's back and it's muzzle looked like someone had gotten a paintbrush and smeared the same inky blue in a clumsy line from nose to neck. It's head-crest of spines faded rather quickly from white to blue. It's eyes were a liquid black with the most delicate golden flecks swimming in the iris. The claws were a polished ebony colour and the tail was dipped in jet black.

All in all, a most stunning young dragon. And if that wasn't enough, a tail-band that quite specifically showed that the dragon was Class 1 and therefore worth more money than John had made in ten years of successful racing was attached at the base of the dragon's tail.

He would be in _big _trouble if anyone found out he had disturbed the dragon. Best case scenario he gets a hefty fine and a slap to the wrist.

Worst case they take away his Rider's license and ban him from the WRO for _life._

"I...I'm sorry. I'll...uhh...I'll just be going now."

He stammered over his words in his rush to leave. The dragon however, looked nonplussed.

"No, it's alright. I'm not the one who minds. Isolation can get a little boring after awhile. Mostly they keep me here because they don't want me to get damaged in fights with other dragons."

John's eyebrows furrowed as he recalled his knowledge on dragon behaviour.

"But Dragons don't fight. At least, not physically."

The Dragon smirked.

"Yes, well. You could say that they don't like me, being Class 1 and all. And...perhaps I have some attitude problems. That's why no one's bought me yet."

The Dragon, normally sounding arrogant, had taken on a rather timid tone. John knew all too well that any Dragon's that were unable to be sold were sent to The Caves. A place where Dragons were kept in a last ditch effort to train them or, if they were just too much to handle, put down.

Or if they were hurt and required euthanasia.

"Well, thanks for the directions. Perhaps I'll see you again?"

The Dragon smiled, but it lacked conviction.

"Perhaps."

* * *

><p>John Watson could not put the conversation with the dragon recluse out of his mind. There were so many questions that needed answers, that he couldn't help but try and find some.<p>

So John decided that he would try and find his way back to the 'Abandoned Sector' as he had taken to calling it. He grabbed a mop and a bucket so that if anyone questioned why he was there he could say he was cleaning floors and got lost.

Turns out it's harder to get lost when you actually _want_ to.

He had just turned down another corridor and was about to give up when he heard hushed voices coming from one of the offices on a corner.

As quietly as he could he crept forward_, _abandoning the mop and bucket in a side-room, to hear what was being said.

"Look...we don't need...won't get anywhere...lost case..."

A second voice joined the first. It seemed somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"...unnecessary risks.._._don't want...let him go...but, if...just make sure...and if he _does_...know...what to do."

The voices silenced and footsteps started in John's direction. Thinking on his feet, he quickly rushed into the nearest stall and crouched low in the large space.

When the footsteps had faded away and it had been silent for a while, John decided it was safe to leave.

"This is forward. I've only met you once and already you're in my stall."

The sudden voice interrupting the cover of silence made John jump at least a foot in the air. He spun around and peered into the darkness, finding the familiar silhouette of a dragon in the corner of the dark stall.

John rolled his eyes in a delayed reaction to the dragon's wit.

"What's next, petting?"

"Yeah, okay, very funny."

John lowered his voice.

"Did you hear any of that?"

The dragon looked at him pointedly and maybe even a little...fearfully?

"Hear any of what?"

John took the hint. So there _was_ something going on. He changed subjects to a safer topic.

"Do you have an owner yet?"

It was a polite enough inquiry to make, but the dragon's face darkened marginally.

"No."

The short and curt response seemed to prevent any more conversation, but John decided to just keep going.

"Who takes care of you? Is a stable-boy assigned to you, or does the WRO have their own people look after you? And what league are you planning on joining?"

John wasn't sure the dragon was going to respond, judging from the stony look that had fallen onto it's face, but he did.

"The WRO sends their own people three times a week. I would enter the A grade, but alas, I do not have a Rider. I'll be lucky if I escape getting put down at The Caves."

At the dragon's hopeless tone, John decided he was going to do whatever he could do to help the beautiful creature.

While basically meant buying him, training him and then racing him.

* * *

><p><em>"No. Absolutely not<em>. _You're lucky they let you back, John. You know that the conditions were: _You must choose a dragon of Class 6 or above or allow the WRO to allocate you a dragon."_ You chose to not choose. So they gave you a dragon. You can't just abandon all the work you put into Dermaitius, he's__ a very competent dragon. You should place well with him."_

John sighed and briefly glanced away from the VidComm. It wasn't usually this hard to win Mike Stamford over, but this time the WRO official would not be persuaded so easily.

And if he couldn't convince him soon, he was going to have an unnecessary phone bill to add to his other fee's.

"Look Mike. I just need permission from the WRO to be able to own a Class 1 dragon. That's it. Come on, it's not like I'm asking you to fix races for me or anything."

Despite the joke being lighthearted, Mike suddenly averted his gaze. His whole demeanor changed and he had a haunted look in his eyes.

_"That's true. Look, I'll see what I can do. I _may_ be able to clear you, but it's not a guarantee. You'll have a one week trial period before you have to pay."_

John was too happy to notice Mike's sudden change. The man seemed nervous and was choosing his words carefully.

"Thanks Mike. You're one in a million."

_"Yeah, yeah. I know. You owe me Johnny boy."_

John smiled at the old nickname.

"Always Mike."

He hung up the VidComm and threw the now smaller screen on his bedside table.

Now there was nothing to do except see if the dragon would agree, which he was certain he would, and wait for Mike's clearance documents to come through.

* * *

><p>When the clearance papers showed, as he knew they would, John caught a HoverCab to the Stables.<p>

He managed to find his way to the isolated dragon's stall a little easier for once and knocked on the door quietly.

"Hello?"

There was a brief silence before a head appeared over the stall door.

"What is it?"

Dragon's had an uncanny ability to remember someone's voice. They could easily identify someone ten years after first seeing them and then never making contact with them again. So John knew that the irritation was aimed directly at him, not at any stranger who might have happened to waltz into the empty sector by mistake.

"I...um...was wondering if you would...well...would like to be my dragon?"

The last part was rushed and uncertain, but the dragon's face did not change. It's steely gaze seemed to be searching John for something. He must have found it, because he agreed.

"Hmm, I wouldn't mind I suppose. You'll need to be cleared-"

"Already taken care of."

The dragon seemed hesitant and uncertainty flashed briefly on it's face.

"If you're doing this just because you think I'm a lost cause, then I want you to turn around and don't come back."

John crossed his arms. He wasn't about to admit that he had pitied the dragon, so he lied through his teeth and hoped it was convincing.

"Nonsense. I have a Class 4 dragon now and I had a Class 2 dragon before. Obviously I needed to up my game."

The dragon lost it's seriousness and it's former cheekiness and arrogance returned slowly in degrees.

"What grade are you entering in?"

"A grade, of course."

"When is the first race of the league?"

"10th of February."

The dragon seemed to contemplate this.

"That's not a lot of time to practice. And what are you going to do about the dragon you have now?"

John hadn't really thought about that. It had all happened so quickly, but he knew that it wouldn't be hard to part ways with Dermaitius. They hadn't known each other very well, it was more of a business partnership than a friendship.

"We aren't very close. He was assigned to me anyway, so I assume he'll just be assigned to someone else."

"Well then, it sounds pretty much settled. You know that I never caught your name?"

It wasn't a statement, more of a prompting for an answer. The dragon looked at him expectantly.

"John Watson. And you?"

"Neuroxin."

John smiled.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Neuroxin. What are your strengths and weaknesses, just so I can plan ahead for practices."

Neuroxin puffed out his chest in pride and recited the list.

"Speed, Aerodynamics, Intelligence, Stamina and Strength. My weakness is a Blindside in my left-hand corner, but it rarely affects me in anything other than racing."

John's eyebrows were almost at his hairline in surprise. It was very unusual for a dragon to have so many strengths and such a petty weakness to balance it out. Even Atraxia only had three strengths and a dangerous weakness, but Neuroxin seemed to be very well off.

"Wow. That's quite impressive. No wonder you're Class 1."

Neuroxin was very pleased with the praise and his head-crest rose a few centimeters.

"Am I to be moved to a different stall?"

"Yes, of course. I can't imagine isolation would be very good and all of the tack and offices are closer to all the other sectors."

"Which sector am I to be in?"

John was starting to become impatient. He had a lot of things to do to finalize his ownership of Neuroxin and he wanted to get started as soon as possible.

"In the South Wing, Sector 4."

"That's quite a fair bit away from here. I don't think I've ever been down that end of the stables."

"Well, you'll be able to look around when you get transferred. Sorry, I've got to go. Got a mountain of paperwork now, so I'll come back tomorrow when everything gets sorted. I'll be taking care of you myself, I don't think a stable-boy should be taking care of dragons just because Rider's can't be bothered to get up in the morning."

Neuroxin pulled his head back and lay down in the shadow's of the stall.

"Goodbye then, John. I'll see you tomorrow."

**Sorry for the total lack of Sherlock. But, never fear! He is appearing soon. **


	5. 15th January 3038, London New England

John Watson signed his name for what felt like the millionth time on, finally, the last screen. A few seconds later after he sent it back to the WRO, they reappeared as approved._  
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_Finally. All these blasted clearance forms have been filled out,_ sent through_ and approved and sent through. Now to set about the task of moving Neuroxin and saying goodbye to Dermaitius._

While he was not looking forward to it, a Rider owed it to his former dragon to bid them farewell and good luck. Many Rider's treated their dragon's as if they were property and hardly ever spoke to them. John had made the vow to himself when he saw neglected and disheartened dragon's being reassigned for the umpteenth time that he would always treat them like he would a human.

He approached Dermaitius' stall and knocked on it quickly before entering.

The deerskin coloured dragon had been resting, but stood as John entered.

"Hello. I hear I am to be re-assigned in a few minutes."

Dermaitius did not speak with malice or hurt in his voice. It was more that he just didn't care who he was assigned with as long as they were competent Rider's.

"Yes. I came to say goodbye and I wish you luck with your next Rider."

Dermaitius inclined his head.

"Thank you. I wish you luck with your next dragon."

No sooner had the two finished the exchange when an WRO worker knocked on the stall door.

"I'm here to move the dragon."

With goodbye's out of the way, John left the stall and went to the tack room to fetch a halter.

He made his way to the 'Abandoned Sector". (Which was actually just the North Wing, Sector 5 but the nickname had stuck.) He couldn't help but think about the first time he led Atraxia through the halls and their cautious conversation.

_It had been a very exciting day for John, who was known as the 'Rookie' by his fellow Riders. You had to earn respect in the Stables and it was easier said than done. A Class 2 dragon would hopefully mean that they would at least stop teasing him._

_ She had made the impression of a very striking dragon with her unusually bright colours. Her scales were a rich strawberry red with two cobalt blue stripes running across her sides and merging at the base of her neck to form one strip across her head and muzzle. Her head-crest of scales were a curious bright purple and her eyes were an electric light blue. Her claws were a shining gold and the tip of her tail had irregular splotches of blue in places. She was rather nervous, as she had never had a Rider before, her tail twitching back and forth every few seconds. _

_After the initial pleasantries were out of the way and they got used to each other, she had become a remarkable friend._

He was startled out of his musings by a rather hard object rushing into him, knocking him backwards off his feet and onto the cold cement floor. Blinking dazedly, he attempted to regain his balance as he stood up.

"Sorry, I guess I was daydreaming."

He tried to leave as quickly as possible, but the stranger spoke.

"Yes, daydreaming indeed. Surely even the most ignorant of Rider's can manage to observe their surroundings enough to avoid a collision with others, but I suppose I am giving you too much credit Mr. Watson."

At the rather harsh reproach and use of his name, John spun around. The sharp glare of Sherlock Holmes met him. The media and stable gossip all said in so many words that the man extremely rude, arrogant and unfeeling but John preferred to make his own decisions about people. And he hadn't made one yet, having only briefly encountered the man on the Test Track.

And he decided that the man was quite rude and arrogant.

"Well, I'm so sorry your highness. I won't let it happen again. And the name is John, Mr. Watson is my father."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you...John. Best leave that to the professionals."

John snorted in part annoyance and part amusement.

"I didn't realize you had a Ph.D. I bow to your superior knowledge."

Sherlock smirked condescendingly. It was startling how much it reminded him of Neuroxin.

"My, my. I wonder what it's like in your tiny, little brain. It must be so relaxing in there."

John huffed indignantly. He really didn't care what people said about him being a washed-up Rider anymore, but insulting his intelligence was enough to stir his pride.

"Perhaps if you and your dragon had been more competent you might have won the Grande Prix in 3035."

For the first time in his life, John Watson saw red. He wasn't easily angered but his old dragon was a sore subject. He clenched his fists in an attempt to keep them at his side and not wrap them around Holmes' scrawny neck. Through the red haze, he managed to choke out a reply.

"Look here. I don't care what you say about me and I don't care who you think you are, but if I ever hear you slur Atraxia again, I will wring your neck."

And with that he spun on his heels, leaving an insufferably amused and slightly intrigued Sherlock Holmes in his metaphorical dust.

* * *

><p>He brusquely knocked on Neuroxin's stall door and walked in. The dragon was pacing and, upon seeing John, it's head-crest rose in greeting.<p>

"Hello John...what's wrong?"

John sighed. He shouldn't have let Holmes get to him, but the subject of his former friend was still raw. Even after three years.

"Nothing's wrong. I never asked, have you ever had a Rider before?"

Neuroxin shook his head, a very human gesture that looked out of place on most dragons, but Neuroxin managed to pull it off rather well.

"No."

It would make things a little harder, but not by much. John set about attaching the halter to Neuroxin's muzzle and led him slowly out of the stall. Another rule that had been ingrained in him from his Riding School days. You never walk faster than a dragon does, which is more of a slow saunter than a brisk walk. Making your dragon keep up with you was extremely insensitive.

The muzzle did not restrict a dragon's mouth, but settled just under the jaw and looped around their muzzle. It was a very simple design and easy to attach and remove. Dragon's normally follow their Rider's without much fuss, but a particularly headstrong dragon or a dragon who is not on good terms with their Rider required a way to make them comply, so a halter was made a requirement when moving around the stables with your dragon.

It was a fair walk from Neuroxin's old stall to the new one. As they entered the more frequented corridors, he could feel the other Rider's gazes as they paused in their chores to watch the Class 1 dragon walk past. The whispers slowly started to filter through and the atmosphere became uncomfortable.

John breathed a sigh of relief, after what felt like a lifetime of walking, when they finally turned the corner to Sector 4. The relief died an agonizing death, however, when he saw Anderson and Sally walking down the corridor towards them.

_Ugh, first Holmes and now these two. Just keep your head down, perhaps they won't notice you._

"Ah, John. I see you've bought a new dragon. Is the WRO's official opinion unimportant to you?"

John counted to 10 in his head. He glanced at Neuroxin and found that the dragon was Sally. After a few seconds he turned his head away in boredom.

"Anderson. Always a pleasure."

At John's mocking tone, Anderson retaliated.

"Just because you have a new dragon doesn't mean you'll be able to win. Success depends on the Rider, not their dragon. And, of course, how physically able they are."

John ignored the sharp barb, but the pain still filtered through nonetheless.

Sally, upon seeing that Neuroxin obviously thought he was above her, exclaimed her indignance with a flick of her tail.

"What, you won't look at me because you think you're better than us?"

Neuroxin replied, without looking at her, haughtily.

"Please, I know I'm better than you. And your Rider needs to relearn his manners, he apparently didn't listen to his mother at the dinner table."

Sally hissed low in her throat. Neuroxin flashed his teeth at her and turned away again.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

_I'm not going to get into a fight with these two._

He walked off, with Neuroxin still staring daggers at Sally, to the stall. He fumbled with the latch before he managed to open it and led Neuroxin inside and engrossed himself in taking his halter off and taking it back to the tack room.

While he was in the tack room he measured out some feed from the feed bin and grabbed some dried meat from the preserver and counted to 20 as slowly as he could.

As he re-entered the stall and set about feeding Neuroxin, he was greeted with sympathy from Neuroxin. It seems that he didn't like Anderson either.

"Honestly. The standard of Rider's today is shocking. Really, I know that there's nothing that you can do, well...at least legally, but they shouldn't allow such rude prats to pass their Rider's examinations. Let alone actually become a Rider. And his dragon was painfully uninteresting. They should have a little more respect for elite champion's."

At this John was surprised, mainly because he wasn't sure if Neuroxin had known who he was or not because, let's face it, he _had_ been a great Rider.

Had been. Past tense.

Neuroxin was painfully observant and noticed John's surprise almost immediately.

"What? You didn't think I would recognize you? It's true that I couldn't recall your name, but almost everybody knows who you are and more still know _of_ you."

_Huh. I knew I was famous, but perhaps not quite _that_ much. At least, not anymore._

John decided to change the topic. Neuroxin desperately needed practice on the test track and John needed to get used to his new dragon before the league started.

"We can either practice tomorrow on the test track or practice in an hour. It doesn't matter either way."

Neuroxin answered him straight away.

"In an hour. I don't know what I'll do if I have to stay in a stall for another day. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime."

John smiled. He understood the frustration of being cooped up and unable to go anywhere.

"Okay. I'll come back in an hour."

* * *

><p>He dropped by Mrs Hudson's briefly, to see if there was anything that she wanted doing.<p>

She had been reading some documents on her VidComm and glanced up in annoyance at being disturbed, but upon seeing John it faded down into a mild irritation.

"Mrs Hudson?

"Oh, hello dearie. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just seeing if you want anything done, I've got some spare time."

Mrs Hudson rose and pottered over to the Hydrator.

"Care for some tea, love? I remember how you used to take it."

John smiled. Anyone who visited Mrs Hudson, be it WRO officials, stable-hands or a Rider, were offered tea.

"No thanks, not this time."

After she had set her mug under the Hydrator and turned it on, she took advantage of the time while it was heating up to think about John's previous request.

"I think that some of the tack in Sector 2 needs to be cleaned. And the feed bin's should probably be topped up in Sector 5. I don't think there's much else, the stable-boy's took care of most of it. But I would appreciate you cleaning up 2 and 5."

The Hydrator pinged and Mrs Hudson collected her tea and sat back down, indicating for John to sit as well.

John declined politely, he really didn't have time to chat today.

"Sorry Mrs Hudson. I'm taking my new dragon out to ride in about an hour."

"Well, take it easy. You always went so fast, just take some time getting used to your new dragon."

John knew better than to ignore her advice.

"I will. It was nice talking to you."

Mrs Hudson returned to her reading.

"Mhmm. See you later dearie."

Sector 2 and Sector 5.

Okay then.

* * *

><p>John lead Neuroxin to the mount up area. He was curious to see how he would react to being saddled and ridden. The first time Atraxia had been saddled and ridden, she had complained how much heavier people were than they looked. When John had told her that she was going to have to get used to it and run around the track anyway, she quipped about how he may or may not have to lose some weight first.<p>

_"Hey! That's not very nice, I'm the lightest Rider in A Grade."_

_She laughed. She had started to get used to his weight on her back and was walking a little more confidently._

_"Well, I guess I'm lucky then because I can't imagine how dragon's can carry Rider's who actually _look_ heavy."_

When they reached the open concrete room, he removed the halter and went into the smaller adjacent tack room. He returned carrying a heavy saddle and a small see-through block of clear modeling plasma.

"Okay, the most important thing is finding the right bridle for you. Since every dragon's mouth is different, using the wrong type could severely damage your mouth while we're racing. So you're going to have to bite down on this for me as hard as you can."

Neuroxing scrunched up his nose and regarded the small semi-solid block with distaste.

"Those things taste terrible."

"Stop whining and just do it. The taste doesn't last long."

With an extremely sullen expression the dragon sulkily bit down on the pro-offered block and spat it back into John's hands after a few seconds.

John sighed. He matched up the correct bridle to the dragon's plasma imprint and then threw the block into the Melter.

Holding the bridle up he checked quickly to make sure it had no faults before slipping it over the dragon's head.

"Open up."

Obediently, Neuroxin opened his mouth and the foreign bit was placed in his mouth, just between the hind molar and the horse tooth. It would be uncomfortable for a while, but it would be vital while they were racing.

John hefted the saddle up and placed it onto Neuroxin's back. The dragon kept shifting while John was tightening the straps, meaning that he would have to keep re-adjusting to try and tighten them correctly.

"Neuroxin. Please stop moving. I know being saddled is strange when you're not used to it, but please. I don't want to end up splattered across the ground because the saddle slid off during a race."

The dragon stood still, but it's tail kept twitching back and forth in nervousness.

John set back to work and the saddle was tightened in no time. Finally, with the stirrups adjusted to his leg height, John gathered the reins in his hands and attempted to mount Neuroxin.

As in as soon as John had one leg swung over Neuroxin he started and moved backwards, meaning that John was suddenly left to scrabble back up his side to avoid face-planting into the hard concrete floor. He yelped out in shock.

"What are you doing! Stay still, or I'm going to end up in Hospital."

Eventually, after much scrabbling and , John dug his heels into Neuroxin's side and they clumsily walked down the narrow corridor which lead to the Test Track. The corridor was designed to be long enough that any dragon who had not been ridden before had time to become used to the Rider on his back, but short enough that those who were well acquainted with riding wouldn't have to wait too long to get out onto the track.

Neuroxin was a pleasantly fast learner and was well used to John on his back by the time they walked out into the bright sunlight. There weren't any other Rider's around, which was how John liked it, so the two went straight to the starting line.

As they went through their run, John mentally listed every fault they would need to change for when the league began in Februrary.

_Slow off the starting line: improve reaction times. Enters too late into corners: visual correction required. Traction a problem when accelerating: physical correction required. Holds back on the straights: verbal correction required. Enters too slow into corners: verbal correction required. The blindside in the left-hand corner causes a lack of confidence at high speed: extra training required. Slows down when the finish line is visible: verbal correction.  
><em>

As they slide to a stop, John checked their time. His mouth fell open in surprise and confusion.

_1min 11.06sec.? That's impossible for a dragon who has never been ridden before._

The rough time it takes a new dragon to complete the Test Track was 1min 20.00sec. His best run with Dermaitius, who was an experienced racer, had been 1min 14.89sec.

Neuoxin, unaware of John's confusion and disbelief, was lining up at the starting line again. John shoved the hope that had risen in him down into a box and shoved it to the back of his mind to fret over later. He gently but firmly pulled back on the reins, despite Neuroxin's eagerness to ride again.

"No, we have a lot of things to fix. There were a lot of mistakes I want to try and fix before we ride on the Test Track again."

His dragon huffed in irritation and disappointment but made his way moodily back to the Mount Up area.

**So...I wasn't too happy with the exchange between Sherlock and John. Sherlock just doesn't want to behave.**** Grr...hopefully I'll get some more Sherlock and John interaction**** in the later chapters. Feedback would be great, since I'm not sure how good this was.**_  
><em>


	6. 21st January 3038, London New England

_Flying. _

_Cutting through the air. Streaking as fast as a lightning bolt. G-forces crushing you, squeezing the air out, yet somehow you keep drawing breath. Turning, twisting, curving, pulling, pushing._

_A perfect run. Of course it is. You're you._

_You're flying ahead of the rest. Leading by an immense amount of seconds. You don't relax, don't stop flying, don't stop moving as if they're breathing down your neck. Because if you do, then they will be._

_You see the bend. You see it. And somehow you know, you just know, that this time if you don't slow down you won't make it. But you don't slow down. Because you're young and, quite frankly, stupid. Nothing can hurt you when you're moving this fast, you think. You've made bends worse than this going much, much faster many times before, so once more won't make a difference._

_Will it?_

Slow down_ the small voice says, yet you push it aside. And in the span of a quarter of a second you have already decided you're going to make the turn at full speed, just as you have every other time you've raced this track._

_You feel your dragon hesitate, slow down slightly. But, oh, she trusts you. Trusts you so much, so she does what you wish, with only a quick sign to show she is unsure. She trusts you._

_Trusted you._

_The dream, because that's just it isn't it? You know it's a dream, you always have. You always will. The dream slows down, or speeds up, you've never quite figured it out._

_You enter the turn, feel her lithe body shift, so you lean into the bend. You can feel each smooth footstep, like the familiar gait of a close friend or family member, so you know almost as soon as your dragon when something goes wrong._

_You can feel her large foot land just not quite right, the claws slipping and finding no purchase and the same confusion passes over you, as it has every time for the past 3 years._

_Wrong, you think. Somethings wrong. What is wrong?_

_Then, just as it seems like she has regained her purchase, her front leg buckles under her sending her careening onto the track._

_You try. Oh, how you try to keep her upright. But there isn't much you can do._

_She falls forwards, not curling onto her side like dragons do when they fall so as to avoid damaging their necks and heads, but straight down like a careening great oak. She lands with her whole body weight on her neck, effectively snapping it with a loud crack._

_You, at this point, have fallen forwards out of the saddle and landed on your left shoulder. Her body is now rolling dangerously close to yours, threatening to crush you, but her speed has saved you. Given you enough forward momentum to keep clear of the danger and slowly, you and your dragon come to a stop._

_You can hardly see from the blinding pain. You can't move, but somehow before the darkness claims you, you manage to scream through the agony..._

_'Please God, let me live.'_

John wakes at the sound of a scream.

It doesn't take as long as it used to to remember that the scream was his.

He's had to learn the hard way not to fight the tears, because they always come eventually. He simply holds his head in his hands and tries to remember the dream.

_Wrong._

He can't grasp it, it's like that world you just can't remember how much you try. Something about the race was wrong. What was wrong?

That turn. They had done it before. Won the Grand Prix twice and raced it four times. They knew that track.

He holds his head in his hands, sobbing as loudly as he dares, asking himself _What. went. wrong_?

* * *

><p>Life continued on at a lazy, slow pace.<p>

John spent most of his days training with Neuroxin for the beginning of the league. Neuroxin, for all his attitude and arrogance, was an excellent learner. He never failed to correct his mistakes and listen to John's advice. And somehow, against all odds, they were becoming a team.

* * *

><p>John had been walking down the corridor towards the tack room, with the intent to take Neuroxin out to the Test Track to practice, when he was met with a very disturbing sight.<p>

None other than Sherlock Holes was sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, with every single bridle in the room set out before him in a precise row, methodically licking each aforementioned item and then writing on a VidComm situated precariously on his right knee, repeating the process every few seconds.

If it hadn't have been for the fact that Sherlock had just picked up _his_ bridle, he may have stood gaping like a fool in the doorway indefinitely.

He rushed forward and snatched the bridle roughly from the insane man's hand before it could complete the journey to his tongue.

"What do you think you're doing! I'd rather you don't get your saliva all over my bridle, thanks."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"As it would happen, man's alibi depends on me 'getting my saliva all over your bridle'. So, if you would be so kind."

He held out his hand impatiently. It dawned on John that Sherlock probably hadn't had anyone say 'no' to him for a long time.

"Firstly, I'm _not_ going to give you my bridle so you can lick it. Ever. Secondly, last time I checked, you're a Rider. Not a police officer. So I don't see how a man's alibi has anything to do with _you_."

John emphasizes the 'you' by pointing his finger at Sherlock, who simply retracts his arm at the end of the speech and folds his hands under his chin.

"It has everything to do with me. And as for not being a police officer, thank goodness I'm not. I couldn't imaging blundering around like those incompetent fools. Now, don't make me ask again."

The hand once again reached outwards.

"Ah, no means _no_. Sorry. Have a good one."

John was about the leave the doorway when it seemed Sherlock decided to try a different tactic.

"You wouldn't want an innocent man to be imprisoned for manslaughter for the rest of his natural life...would you?"

Ignoring the tiny voice in his head that was telling him to just keep walking, John stopped two meters away from the tack room. If what Sherlock was saying was true, then the man would be facing an unfair imprisonment for the rest of his life. But why should he believe Sherlock?

And why hasn't he walked away yet.

"You wouldn't want his family to suffer through his absence would you? Think of the poor children, John."

After using some extremely creative expletives, John turned around and stonily shoved the bridle into Sherlock's waiting hand. He didn't want to risk a family being broken up, even if it turned out the smarmy git was lying.

"Fine! Just stop with the guilt trip."

The smug look of victory did not escape John as Sherlock proceeded to lick the bridle and then fling it back at it's owner.

_Could my life get any stranger?_

John wondered as he walked out of the tack room.

Unfortunately for John, it _did_.

**Yeah, just a short chapter, but I've been so tied down lately. It's been one of those busy weeks.**** May be a while until the next chapter, folks.**_  
><em>


	7. 6th February 3038, London New England

**A/N: **This has been sitting in storage for _months_ and I had planned to write more on it, but then I realized it was actually pretty good short and that way I could actually post something. So, yeah. *facepalms* Next chapter? Ngghh, I don't know. Thank you everyone for reviewing this story and thank you for the alerts. I appreciate**** **it.**

The sounds of whistling echoed down the corridors of the 221 Baker Stables.

A man strolled casually along, hands clasped behind his back, moving steadily past the empty stalls. Well, they weren't _all_ empty before, but silence was easily ensured. Fear is a very powerful motivator.

The light in the hallway was almost nonexistent, the tinted night shades on the windows keeping out the glaring artificial light of the monstrous metropolis outside. The whisting ceased as the man approached three others, silent exchanges and the passing of money speaking louder than any condemning word. As plans were finalized and outcomes confirmed, the men stalked off back into the shadows, leaving the man to resume his whistling and walk back the way he came.

The man sighed despairingly as strolled his way towards the Stables' back-door exit.

If only it wasn't all so clichéd.

* * *

><p>The last week before the racing league began was aways rushed.<p>

It seemed that no amount of preparation could prevent this and even the most level-headed Rider could find themselves dashing up and down the corridors, searching for some lost item or frantically grooming their impatient dragon's until their scales gleamed.

For John, the days were always a source of excitement, with plenty of work to be done. There always seemed to be something to do, whether it be squeezing in practice on the Test Track or ironing out his Rider's uniform. Neuroxin, for the most part, was largely unimpressed with the fuss that everyone seemed to make and told John so in rather derogatory terms. Constantly.

"...why you make such an event over something that hasn't happened yet, there would be plenty of time for everything if you all stopped rushing around and actually _thought_ about what you had to do. Then it wouldn't be all, 'Oh! I just remembered I don't have a saddle, because I was too lazy to clean it three weeks back.' Honestly, if dragon's were as lethargic as humans are, we probably wouldn't be able to lift ourselves off of the ground! I wonder how you lot manage to do it. Well, how the majority manage to do it, because I've seen..."

Needless to say, John was very quickly running out of patience. He did not appreciate his dragon's behaivour, but he could see that he was nervous about his first race, even though he didn't admit it.

Ever since John had found Sherlock Holmes in the tack room, he seemed to just keep meeting him. Usually with a greeting something along the lines of 'Hello, I need you to do something for me'. Most of the time, whatever he was 'needed' for, was a waste of his time. Such as sending confusing messages to unknown people, fetching him something, or even on one memorable occasion he was asked whether or not field crickets tasted like a common brand of apricot jam after having one _shoved into his mouth._

Whether it was fate having a laugh at him, or just extremely bad luck, he didn't know. But no matter how much he tried to avoid the man, he kept finding him everywhere and anywhere. But, he hadn't seen him today, which was making him rather paranoid. He had had enough. And since Sherlock didn't seem to need him for anything _important_ there seemed no point in humoring the man anymore.

He entered the storage room to get some more polish for his tack. He had been using a startling amount recently. It was a cluttered old room, having escaped the alterations and upgrades bestowed upon the rest of the stables. In fact, it was probably one of the most outdated rooms in the whole of New London. There were shelves, but they packed with supplies and forgotten paraphernalia. More supplies were packed away in silver metal cubes at either end of the narrow stretch. A fine layer of dust seemed to cover every possible surface and the air was slightly musty and stale.

"Ah, John. Just the person I wanted to see. I need you to do something for me."

With an angry sigh he ceased his search for polish and turned to face Sherlock. The man was sitting _upside-down_ on a pile of crates slightly to the right, his feet propped up on the top crate, with his head hanging off of the bottom one

"What? What do you want me to do now? You know what, don't answer that. I don't want to know!"

He marched out of the storage room, all thoughts of polish forgotten. He didn't know where he was going, the only thing he was thinking was _get away from Sherlock_, but his feet lead him to the Tack Room. Which reminded him that he needed polish. Which was in the storage room. Which meant he would have to walk all the way to Sector 3 to get some just to avoid Sherlock.

He had just started to turn around and head towards Sector 3 when he barreled into Sherlock who, it seemed, had followed him.

"Excuse me."

John glared daggers at Sherlock, who seemed non-plussed, before moving to step around him.

"I need you to go give this to Lestrade."

Sherlock moved in front of John, once again blocking his path. John crossed his arms impatiently.

"Why don't you get someone else to? Or better yet, why don't you do it yourself?"

Sherlock ignored him and instead pulled a small Holodisk from his coat pocket and handed it to John.

"Tell him 'If the brother has a green hover-platform, arrest the brother. If not, it was the mechanic two floors down.' In those exact words."

John breathed out long and hard through his nose before walking off to find Lestrade.

He told himself that he was only doing it because Lestrade happened to be in Sector 3 as well.


End file.
